Slippage
by hpaich
Summary: Tag for Hole in the Heart. Spoilers up to that episode. Written from Booth's perspective, following his thoughts through that tragic day and night.


**Hello, all. It's been so long since I've posted anything - lots of personal crises have been taking up my time and hampering my creativity. I have to finish my multi-chapter story - yes, I will ABSOLUTELY finish it - so I'm trying to get back into the swing of things by posting a tiny little fic, a tag for Hole in the Heart. Hopefully you like it. Spoilers for Hole in the Heart.**

**SLIPPAGE**

He tackled Vincent, instinct kicking in even though it was too late. The minute he saw the blood pumping out of that little hole in the kid's chest he knew there was nothing he could do. He still tried. Tried for the kid, tried for every comrade who'd had the same injury and hadn't made it. Most of all, he tried for Bones. And the kid begged, just like all those soldiers. He knew what was happening. They all had. And it changed everything. No one was an atheist when they were dying.

He could hear Bones next to him. She was begging too. He couldn't give her what she wanted. Not this time. And when the first words out of her mouth were in defense of his actions, his heart broke all over again. For all of them.

BBBBB

The sour taste of failure was in his mouth; his shoulders sagged with it. But they were all looking to him to help them. To lead them. So he squared his shoulders and swallowed the defeat, and did what needed to be done.

He saw the pain in their faces. Knew what they were going through. He hadn't been lying when he said that he knew what it felt like. But he didn't look at her. Not really. He felt her agony, knew it as if it was his own. And really, it always was. Always had been, ever since that first time she'd cried against him, so long ago.

As he outlined their plan of action he barely looked at her. She was just managing to hold it together. But he held her gaze when he said they'd get him. He knew guilt, was familiar with the look and smell and weight. It was all around her, so much so that she was shutting down. She put up a good front, but he could see her tells. Because of that it was all too easy to get in her way, to insist she stay with him. To assuage his worry and ease her suffering. For a moment the old familiar fight flared in her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by her grief. By something he was almost sure was need. She nodded her assent, then ducked her head and passed him, missing the relief that coursed through his body. Nothing that had gone between them before mattered. His course was clear.

He would take care of her.

BBBBB

For the first time, they were uncomfortable in his living room. Awkwardly they edged around each other, both pretending that they didn't feel the pull, the clawing need. He let her win the fight about the couch. She let him fuss without complaining. They both let the door close without saying the words.

BBBBB

Adrenaline screaming through his body. Arms shaking, heart pounding. Afraid it was too late, that he was too late. Then she ghosted into his room, a pale, gray reflection of the yearning fantasies he'd had for so many years. He tried to hear her over the roaring of his blood but realized he didn't have to try. Her face, carved into deep grieving grooves, told the real story. Unable to resist, he tangled her fingers with his. The feelings he'd been fighting for so long stirred restlessly, and he shoved them down. She needed him. When she spoke, he was shocked by her words. Then realized that he shouldn't have been surprised.

_What kind of person am I?_

She would take this on herself. Just like he always did. Just like he was now.

Accepting the pain - because he knew touching her would hurt, it had for so long – he reached out to her. In his bedroom, in his bed. Where she'd never been before. She confessed her guilt and fear to him as he reassured and comforted her. The same as always, and completely different. In the next heartbreaking instant she crawled against him, burrowing close the way he'd always wished she would. His brief worry about being here, now, with her, had disappeared the minute they sank into the bedding together. That this, in this way, was the first time was alright with him. Somehow it was appropriate. It felt like they were starting over again. Poor Vincent's end was their beginning.

It was enough.

When she abruptly pushed away from him after several moments, he grabbed her hand again, before she could stand. Her face was pale, her eyes full of tears and self-disgust. Narrowing his own eyes, he studied her silently. He could hear the words as if she'd spoken them aloud. Could see the relief she was trying desperately to hide.

The relief that it hadn't been him.

Rejecting her guilt, heedless of her resistance, he pulled her down again, murmuring soothingly. And in comforting her, he was finally able to regain his focus. He strove to forget just how close she'd been to that bullet. Meant for him, but it would have killed him just as quickly if it had hit her instead. One bullet. One life. His hair had been standing on end since the instant he heard the glass break. Only now that he was holding her in his arms was the feeling beginning to fade. The muscles in her thin arms tightened fiercely around him, and now he was the one who felt relief. Relief that she'd come to him. Relief that they weren't broken.

Relief that they could simply lie here and it was enough.

Her breathing slowed and calmed, her hand limply curled against his chest as she faded. Slowly he moved her, the thick comforter curling willingly around them, his bed silently accepting them. Knowing there would be no more sleep for him, he tightened his arms around her and lightly touched her hair. Tomorrow would come soon enough, another day full of more rage and adrenaline. Tomorrow he would finish it. But he was taking tonight. Tonight was theirs.

Tonight they held, once again the center. And it was enough.

**Thanks so much for taking the time to read. Hope you liked it.**


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